break me like a promise
by leannesidhe
Summary: He catches her before she stumbles and when she looks up at him, he doesn't allow himself to think. He kisses her, slants his mouth over hers with the promise of a thousand tomorrows on his lips and finally, finally, Reyna rips down what's left of the walls she had erected around herself and believes him. Pre-TLH. Can be read as a prologue to Dethroned. ONESHOT


**Break me like a promise**

 **i.**

They were thirteen when the gods deemed them fit for a crown.

 _Thirteen_ , and already, they were being cloaked in purple and raised on shields. He was a prince of the sky; she, a daughter of war, and by the world's default logic, it was a match made in the cosmos.

Jason knows, however, deep in his gut, that he was never made to sit on a throne. But Reyna – this was her _birthright_ , a destiny the Fates weaved for her the moment she was named.

They swear fealty to New Rome and ceremonially, he takes her hand and raises it for the whole legion to see. The crowd comes to life, stomping their feet and chanting their names, but Jason's gaze remains fixated on her. As the ethereal light of the campfire shines in her eyes, his chest swells with pride. She looked every bit like the queen that she was – regal and confident – and he knows that he'll never be worthy to work by her side, to rule over their people as one entity.

If only he knew what she thought of when she looked at him.

 **ii.**

She crosses swords with the other campers, her strikes and parries far too skilled for hands like hers. He'd been familiar with her impressive maneuvers a long time ago (heaven forbid that a praetor be anything less than excellent with a blade). In fact, they had worked so closely together that her battle quirks had all but been programmed into his very instincts.

The new combat instructor however, doesn't share this knowledge and so he keeps a close eye on both of them, calculating, until he finally decides to set his two best students in the field.

She moves with all the deadly grace of a predator – quick, powerful, and unforgiving. He matches her in every single way – stance for stance, strike for strike, and wit for wit.

Still, it ends with him on the ground and the tip of her sword grazing his neck.

Jason realized then, as the beginnings of a smile tugged at her lips, that girls like her were never meant to be loved. No – girls like her, with thunder in their hearts and the roar of a thousand war cries in their veins, were meant to be _worshipped._

 **iii.**

Years ago, in another life, when she was just another girl with a too-bright smile and unmarred hands, she hears stories – legends of beautiful men with hearts as fickle as the wind, told by an enchantress whose malice rivaled those of her victims. She had never liked Circe – wasn't enraptured by the witch the way her sister was – but Reyna figured that only a woman warped by the very tales she told could find delight in condemning men to such a horrid fate.

And so when she first sees him, golden hair as bright as the sun and eyes as blue as his father's domain, the alarm bells her childhood had drilled into her system warns her to stay away. And she tries, gods, how she _tries_ , but she was a queen bred for war and love was a sorcery she never would understand.

 **iv.**

It wasn't the first late night they worked together and if they had anything to say about it, it definitely wouldn't be the last, but the war was building up to its inevitable crescendo and so was the turmoil of fear and desperate longing.

It was only a matter of time before someone crosses the unspoken boundaries between them.

She was poring over the war plans spread haphazardly across their desk, a hand coming up to rub her tired eyes. The small motion disrupted a lock of hair from her meticulously crafted braid, and Jason, sleep deprived and exhausted to the bone, _forgets_. Acting on pure reflex, he curls a finger around the stray strands and tucks them behind her ear.

She goes rigid. His hand freezes in midair as his brain catches up with his actions.

She whispers his name, not knowing herself if it was a warning or an invitation. His hand drops down to cup her jaw, his thumb ghosting over her cheek, her chin, the curve of her lips. She breathes out his name again, her voice small and afraid, _so very afraid._

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to compose himself, then lets her go. Before he can fully retract his hand however, her fingers close over his wrist. She opens her mouth to mumble out an apology but before she could utter a single word, he stops her with a gentle shush.

He wants to tell her that she doesn't have to fear him, fear _this_ , wants to kiss away every single scar that her past left her with. But he doesn't – because no matter how much it ached, he would put her above everything else, even his own desires. Placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her, he tells her that it was okay, that she doesn't have to apologize to him for anything.

She nods with gratitude but the fear never leaves her eyes.

His throat tightens. _Someday_ , he vows, he was going to make her feel like the queen that she was.

 **v.**

The war was over.

His sword falls limply against his side, the adrenaline in his body fading into fatigue. Still, he forces his feet to take one step after the other, praying to every single deity that she was alive and well. He had never doubted her of course – because if anyone could survive this battle then it would be her – but war was a cruel game and death catered to no one's whims but fate.

As soon as he stumbles outside, the stench of blood and smoke immediately permeate his senses. Apprehension slithers its way into his stomach as he takes in the rubble and the fallen bodies, and even the victorious cries of his people cannot soothe the ice-cold fear that stabs through him. He staggers forward, eyes frantically searching for a flash of purple amidst the dreary landscape.

 _There_ – he catches sight of the familiar cape, and he watches as she swivels around scanning the crowd for _someone_.

His eyes meet hers. Exhilarating relief rushes into him and the triumph he hadn't let himself feel surges with a vengeance. Tomorrow, they were going to have to face the music; tomorrow, they were going to mourn and grieve and bury their losses. But today, at this very moment, he allows the thrill of the victory to flood his bloodstream.

A smile, one he has never seen on her before – wide and unguarded and so heartbreakingly radiant – graces her features, and _gods above,_ he would have battled Krios a thousand more times if it meant seeing that smile every single day for the rest of his life.

There was no doubt now, not even a shred of uncertainty when she runs to him. Abandoning his weapons on the ground, he meets her halfway.

He catches her before she stumbles and when she looks up at him, he doesn't allow himself to think. He kisses her, slants his mouth over hers with the promise of a thousand tomorrows on his lips and finally, _finally_ , Reyna rips down what's left of the walls she had erected around herself and _believes him_.

 **vi.**

 _(One day, she will realize her mistake, when all that pain crashes back down a thousand fold.)_

 _(One day, he will fall for the rainbows in someone else's eyes and forget about the broken shards of a vow that he left on another's.)_

 _(But for now – for now, she takes the soul he offers at her feet without fear, without hesitation.)_

 _(For now, the universe lets them be as they stood among their comrades, baptized like newborn gods by the rising sun's golden glow.)_


End file.
